


The Wedding Reception

by Bolt_DMC



Category: Bolt (2008)
Genre: Dancing, Humor, Movie Reference, Music, Post-Canon, Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-04
Updated: 2019-09-04
Packaged: 2020-09-27 03:27:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20400913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bolt_DMC/pseuds/Bolt_DMC
Summary: The granddaughter of the actor who plays Dr. Calico is getting married and the three pets are among the invited guests -- but the reception is a dud. Can Bolt and company save the day, even for something as mundane as this? Primary cultural references are the film "Dirty Dancing" as well as wedding standards such as Richard Wagner’s Wedding March from "Lohengrin" (with smart-aleck lyrics, no less) and the Pachelbel Canon, John Travolta movies, and the TV show "Saturday Night Live."





	The Wedding Reception

**Author's Note:**

  * For [PenNameSmith](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PenNameSmith/gifts).

> Timeline: May 2009.
> 
> For PenNameSmith, the finest Bolt fanfiction writer I know.

1.

Mittens and Rhino sat engrossed in front of the television. Penny and her mom had gone shopping at the mall, and the house would be human-free for several hours. Bolt, having uncharacteristically woken late, had just come in.

"What’cha watching?" he yawned.

"Welcome back, welcome back, welcome back, sleepyhead," chortled Mittens.

"Urgh!" groaned the dog. "Not ‘Welcome Back Kotter’, I hope."

"Nah -- even Rhino jumps past that one when he channel surfs," the cat said. "This is the movie ‘Dirty Dancing’. Ever seen it? It's got some great dance scenes."

But the little shepherd didn't answer, eyeing the screen instead. Patrick Swayze was teaching the finer points of the terpsichorean art to Jennifer Gray, underscored by Eric Carmen singing "Hungry Eyes." "You know," he eventually offered, "That's something I never did on the TV show. I bet I’d have been good at it, too."

Mittens gave him an amused glance. "I dunno, Wags. You're the closest thing I've ever seen to Bo Jackson in the dog world, but Patrick Swayze you’re not."

Bolt was unfazed. "I'll bet I could even do as well as that guy on, uh…"

"Saturday Night Fever?" said Rhino.

"Pulp Fiction?" said Mittens.

"Grease?" said Rhino.

"…what’s his name again?" groused Bolt in frustration.

"Oh you know who that is!" scolded Mittens. "And no. Fat chance of that, Mr. Four-left-feet. Not gonna happen. C’mon, have a seat and watch the rest of this thing with us."

Rhino shot the cat a goofy look. "Bet you can’t dance, either," he giggled.

"Aw, pipe down or I'll -- I’ll make a hamster sandwich outta you," she teased back.

When the film finally ended, Mittens asked Rhino if he wanted to watch something else. "No, I’ve had enough reality for one day," said the little rodent.

Bolt looked earnestly at the hamster and corrected him, likely for the hundredth time. "Most of TV’s not real, you know."

"Not buying it," came the reply. "Well, except for those news shows. That stuff just can't be real. Nobody could make all that up with a straight face."

"So where did Penny go?" asked Bolt.

Mittens rolled on her back and licked a paw. "She went to pick up a bridesmaid's dress. We’re all going to a wedding next week. You know Malcolm, the actor who plays Dr. Calico? His granddaughter's getting married. Saw the invitation on the kitchen counter."

Even though he played the villain on Bolt’s television show, Penny had liked Malcolm best of all the cast members. They had, in fact, kept in touch by way of a series of letters. The older actor was a real tale-spinner, and loved telling Penny about his long years in British (and later American) film, stage, and TV -- and Penny looked forward to each new installment. The girl found Malcolm’s indulgence in the quaint art of letter writing refreshing somehow -- quirky, for sure, but still very enjoyable. Perhaps it was an indicator of his age and lack of comfort with something as comparatively new-fangled as email. Then again, he seemed like the sort of old-fashioned gentleman who would break out the silver tea set for company with minimal encouragement.

"Whaaaat?" bellowed Rhino earnestly. "We’re going to the lair of the evil Dr. Calico to a ‘wedding’?" He made air quotes while saying the last word. "I suspect foul play!" he finished with a flourish.

"No, no, Rhino. He's a good guy," the dog tried to reassure him. "Got to meet him a few times after Penny and I left the show. I like him a lot, actually."

"Hmm, well -- that remains to be seen," said the hamster, sporting a furtive what’s-that-lurking-behind-the-couch look. "We shall see."

2.

At the reception, Mittens was in rare form.

"Wow," she crabbed to Bolt, who was sitting across from her in their little corner of the hall. "Not a lot of imagination spent on that processional music, huh? The ‘Taco-Bell Canon,’ the piece that launched a thousand weddings, and guaranteed to give the guests heartburn."

"’Taco-Bell Canon’? It’s really called that?" asked the pooch. He tilted his head and wrinkled his brow in confusion. "Gee -- and all this time I’ve been calling it the ‘Pachelbel… "

"Yes -- yes -- it’s the ‘Pachelbel Canon’," the cat interrupted while shaking her head. "Way to ruin a good joke, Wags."

Bolt thought a moment. "Besides, isn't it traditional to do Wagner’s wedding march from ‘Lohengrin’?"

Mittens nodded. "Sure, but you don't get more cliched than that. There's even been words made up for the tune." She theatrically cleared her throat, stuck her paw in the air, and yowled:

Here comes the bride,  
Boy, she looks fried!  
Her bachelorette party has the  
Groom fit to be tied!

The dog laughed so hard he had to cover his nose to keep the water he’d drunk from shooting out. "Did you just come up with that?" he said.

"Yeah, not bad for spur of the moment, eh?" chuckled Mittens with a self-satisfied grin. "The traditional parody lyrics about ‘short, fat, and wide’ aren't quite so PC nowadays. Needs an update. But anyway, let's move on -- who thought the buffet idea was a good one? What would Emily Post say?"

Bolt contemplatively looked at the ceiling and scratched an ear. "Well, nothing actually. She’s dead."

The cat giggled in spite of herself. "You’re really starting to get the hang of this humor business." Her canine pal was bright, sweet, and good-hearted, but more than a little clueless sometimes.

Just then the bride walked past, having taken yet another opportunity to fix her make-up. Her lipstick had been well smeared between the water-glass-clink kiss requests and the traditional wedding cake feeding ritual.

Mittens shivered and said, "That dress. What was she thinking? It would've been more tasteful if she wore the wedding cake. It's got less flowers on it, and mercifully no Styrofoam birds. Though you’ve gotta admit, it’s better than Penny’s bridesmaid dress. She looks like a banana split, complete with sprinkles."

"Styrofoam?" Bolt grabbed his throat, did an exaggerated eye roll, lolled his tongue out, and fell over backwards. "That’s my kryptonite! No wonder I’ve felt so powerless all day!"

"B-plus for execution and C-minus for content. A-plus for effort, though," quipped Mittens.

The little shepherd then sat up and got a slightly anxious look on his face. "Hey, where’s Rhino? Haven't seen him since he finished his hamster pellet dinner.”

"Ah, he'll be fine, Bolt, don’t worry," Mittens reassured the dog. "Knowing him, he’s probably on a self-styled, super-secret scouting mission to make sure there’s no hidden danger from Dr. Calico’s thugs. Or doing something else just as silly." Just then, Mittens felt something bump up against her from behind. And again. And yet again. It was Rhino in his plastic ball, trying to get the cat’s attention.

"See, Bolt?" she said. "He’s like Beetlejuice. Say his name and he materializes like magic." Mittens turned her attention to the tiny rodent next to her. "Everything quiet on the Western Front there, Sarge?"

Rhino saluted enthusiastically. "All clear, mon capitaine! Reconnaissance yet again turned up no evidence of evildoers. We can relax and enjoy ourselves, at least for the time being."

"Yeah, okay, okay," said Mittens while rolling her eyes. "Soooo, what’s your pleasure, little buddy?"

"I’m parched after all that running around," the hamster said. "Can you get me a wee bit of punch from out of the bowl over there?"

The cat grinned. "Sure, though I forgot my eyedropper. It’s spiked, and a little goes a long way with you, remember?"

"Not to worry. Any self-respecting hamster knows his limits. Heck, you can get yourself some while you’re at it. Heard it’s particularly good from the other guests."

Mittens’s smile only widened further. "Nah, none for me, I’m driving."

That got Rhino giggling. "Been taking lessons from Toonces the Driving Cat, have you?"

"Oh yeah, I forgot. You saw that old Saturday Night Live retrospective, too, didn’t you. Okay pal, I’ll hoist you up on the table and get you a little cuppa." Rhino bounced up and down as high as his plastic ball would allow in gratitude.

Mittens was able to balance surprisingly well on her hind legs and lift things, though she was a bit unsteady at times. They headed over to the buffet spread to the huge cut glass bowl filled with red liquid. No one was nearby, so there should be no scolding from humans about pets being on the table. The cat grabbed Rhino’s ball and surreptitiously placed him on the table next to a big half-eaten gelatin mold. She then deftly hopped up alongside, but landed awkwardly in gelatinous slush, causing her to lose balance and dive face-first into the punch bowl. "So much for teetotaling," she thought. "But hey, Rhino was right -- this is pretty good stuff." She drank in a middling amount, then by turns pulled herself out with as much dignity as she could muster, filled a nearby cup with punch for her friend, and hiccupped.

"Here’s mud in your eye," the cat said, slurring slightly.

"And punch in yours," quipped the hamster. He then looked at her searchingly. "You sure you’re okay?"

"Couldn't, hic, be better," replied Mittens. Rhino slurped up as much of the red liquid as he thought best, then both hurried back to Bolt before their transgression was discovered.

3.

Meanwhile, the reception DJ was having a tough time coaxing anyone to the dance floor. Disco classics, 60s oldies, Beatles, Madonna -- nothing worked. "Okay everybody. I see a lot of empty space up here, and plenty of idle feet standing around out there. Don’t make me drop the bass on you -- I’ve got some Electro House, and I’m not afraid to use it," he said unctuously. "You look more like a ‘Dirty Dancing’ medley crowd to me, though, so I’m gonna queue that up for you before I resort to Dubstep."

Suddenly, and against his wishes, Bolt found himself nails-and-claws skittering onto the dance floor, coming to a halt at its center. Rhino had gotten a running start in his plastic ball and crashed into the surprised pooch, pushing him across the waxed parquet.

"All righty then, Fred Astaire -- let's see what you’ve got!" yelled the mischievous hamster.

"Okay," the dog quickly said to himself. "I said I could dance, so let's just see if I can. If Patrick Swayze and what's-his-name from ‘Urban Cowboy’ can do it, so can I." Years of acting, unwitting or not, kicked in just as the spoken prologue to the bouncy, rambunctious Motown oldie "Do You Love Me (Now That I Can Dance)?" by the Contours flooded from the speakers.

"Bolty, it’s showtime!" he shouted, though it only came out as barking to any human within earshot. The little shepherd shimmied and wiggled, shook and spun, hopped on his back legs like a being possessed, doing his best to imitate what he had seen in the movies. It might not have been Swayze or "what's-his-name" from "Staying Alive," but it still had a unique, quirky charm that was plenty good enough. Plus he added in a few moves neither dancer could have managed, including a couple of impressive and well-placed full backflips. By now, the wedding guests had started to crowd around, clapping in time.

As the song wound to a conclusion, Eric Carmen’s steamy power-pop ballad "Hungry Eyes" followed right on its heels. And now Bolt was no longer alone on the dance floor; devilish Rhino had managed to bump his reluctant cat friend into the still-posing dog. A normal Mittens would have scrambled right back into the crowd, but a plenty pickled Mittens was a different story. She had managed to find the sweet spot between mostly maintaining physical coordination while dropping her inhibition levels into negative numbers territory. Dog and cat leaned seductively into each other with front paws touching, doing a smoldering close-step punctuated by the occasional spin from the cat, sprinkled with periodic bump-and-grind interludes, Mittens with her back to Bolt. It was all as smooth as eight legs would allow.

Of course, the music set ended with the joyously energetic "(I’ve Had) The Time of My Life" by Bill Medley and Jennifer Warnes -- what wedding reception doesn't feature it? -- picking things up a solid notch. Rhino couldn't resist anymore, zooming onto the dance floor in his plastic ball and spinning around the dancing dog and cat like a demented dreidel. Mittens and Bolt took turns with energetic short solo bursts, alternatively jumping back together to dance as a pair. Not long before the song ended, Rhino made a beeline for the cat, bouncing his plastic ball into the air. She caught him easily, holding him triumphantly aloft and in front of her. Still clutching the hamster in her paws, Mittens ran and leaped full-on towards the unsuspecting pooch. To everyone’s surprise and delight -- especially his -- he managed to catch them and hold them in the air, pirouetting on his back paws (as much from wobbliness as by design, though his short legs and big feet finally steadied him) before coming to a triumphant stop just as the song ended. Raucous applause and cheers rained down upon them.

Well, if that didn't get everyone dancing, nothing would. Yes, of course, it worked. Bolt, Mittens, and Rhino stayed on the floor amid the throng until their paws finally gave out. The celebration lasted well into the night.

Towards the end of the evening, Malcolm came over to the three tired pets. He was sixty-something and British with a cultured accent and theatrical presence that was clearly wasted on a character like Dr. Calico -- but hey, an actor’s got bills to pay, so why not? He grinned and scratched the dog warmly behind the ears.

"Bolt, you old rascal, nice to see you again," he said. "You know, you're the only one here who can chew the scenery better than me -- and I sure want to thank you for it. That was quite a show you three put on out there."

The little shepherd smiled and woofed his thanks.

"Well, I’ve got to chat up more guests," he sighed. "Being grandfather of the bride -- oh, the work's never done. I'll bid you fond adieu. My little friend (said to Rhino), my happily retired co-star (said to Bolt), and milady (said to Mittens), thanks for coming and safe travels."

"Wow," said Rhino after he left. "For someone who's trying to take over the world, he's an awfully nice guy. Maybe he really is just an actor after all. This is going to have me questioning my whole belief system… "

4.

Morning broke and sunshine streamed into Penny’s hotel room -- something Mittens was not in the least happy about. She pushed her head under the bedclothes to escape the light. "How much did I have to drink last night?" she groaned. And then she realized she wasn't alone.

"Oh, milaaaaady!" called out Rhino. He was joined by Bolt, both of whom sang lustily:

Here comes the bride,  
Wow, she looks fried!  
She drank so much punch  
That she lay down and cried!

"Ohhhhh! Will you two pipe down? My head is killing me!" She tried burying herself further under the blanket. "Rhino, you had as much as I did. How come you’re such a chipper chipmunk?"

"Me?" replied the excitable one, bouncing up and down. "I never get hung over. Metabolism's too fast, the booze just burns right through me. But enough pleasantries -- I want to find some kibble." He hopped into his plastic ball and rolled out of the room.

Bolt suddenly became concerned. Mittens usually reacted well to good-natured teasing. "Are you all right?" he asked earnestly.

"Don't worry, I’ll be fine," she said. "I'm just hung over. It'll pass."

The dog thought a minute and said, "You know, that was a nice thing you did, Mittens. And I gotta say, you surprised me -- you’re a pretty decent dancer."

"Eh, happy to oblige," groaned the cat. "But I’ll admit, there was a teensy bit of selfish motivation in there too, not to mention more than a little hooch. You've experienced that great feeling of saving the day a lot in your time. Me, not so much. Sure, it was fun to show off, but it also felt good to save something, even if it was only a wedding reception. Baby steps, Wags." She paused. "Oh, and by the way, you cut a nice rug out there yourself. Glad I was tipsy enough to join you."

"Me too. Sleep well, Ginger Rogers," Bolt smiled. "Me, I need breakfast and a walk. See you."

"Okay," Mittens said. "Wake me in twenty years. Rip Van Winkle, signing off." With that, she disappeared fully beneath the covers.


End file.
